Waltz with the Lady Page 23

  A shot rang out.

  Bitterman groaned. He’d been hit. With his hideous body slumping on top of her, India writhed to break free as she felt the warmth of his blood spread over her stomach and chest. Then, the wet nose of Coyote, licking and sniffing her face, assured her help had arrived.

  Gat pulled up his horse, leaped down and rolled Bitterman off India. He drew out his knife and cut the ropes binding her. Their eyes met, his overflowing with unspoken apology, hers with unsaid relief. The lightning flashed with skeletal vividness across the sky and the subsequent crack of thunder returned them to the moment.

  Gat shouted over the storm. “Stampede. I need your help!” He was putting her up on her horse when she fully understood. The herd was spooked and ready to stampede. Another crack of thunder and they’d break. He was up on his own horse now, galloping off. Coyote yapped after him. She dared a look at Bitterman’s still body on the ground. Putting peril and hesitation aside, India spurred her horse after them. By now it was so dark she could barely distinguish the herd ahead, though their nervous bellowing roared between the rips of thunder.

  Suddenly, the herd leaders broke and ran like racers. The surging wave of wild-eyed long-horned cattle was a terrifying sight to India, and she realized that without help, she and Gat would have to corkscrew them into themselves. Gat hooted and yelled as he rode forward. India almost quailed, but Bluestocking plunged ahead. Choking and blinded with dust India galloped alongside the herd, serving as a circling sentinel.

  The black clouds burst and rain poured down, and with the cooling deluge the herd seemed to lose its frenzy. What seemed like hours was only minutes by the time she and Gat had turned the bovine wave into itself.

  Exhaustion seared through India like a lightning bolt and with water streaming down her face, she used her last threads of strength to whoop with relief when she saw other cowhands riding up.

  “You all right, Miss Simms?” Gat yelled through the pouring rain.

  “No, Mr. Ransom,” she called with honesty as thirst and exhaustion took its price. She felt herself slipping, her grip loosening and the world spinning.

  When India regained consciousness the next morning, Elizabeth Hedemen was sitting beside her. The girl’s eyes widened and she jumped from her chair and ran to the cabin door hollering, “She’s awake, Ma. She’s awake.”

  The first thing on India’s mind was water. A crockery water pitcher sat on the table and India made to rise, but weakness halted her progress. “Elizabeth,” she rasped softly, “please bring me some water.”

  Elizabeth quickly turned back to her patient, bringing the water pitcher with a cup. Her thirst was so great that India almost drank straight from the pitcher, but running her tongue over her parched lips, she waited for Elizabeth to pour a cupful.

  Eugenie, followed by Russ and Gat, hurried in. “Thank God. You’ve slept like the dead,” Eugenie announced. “Gat’s told us what happened.”

  India’s eyes lowered. She wished the whole affair could be hidden under a cloak of silence.

  “I thank you for saving my herd,” Russ said.

  “I did what anyone else would have done,” she replied modestly. “Mr. Ransom deserves the credit for anticipating the stampede.”

  “Unfortunately, there was a casualty. Chic Bitterman must have fallen from his horse. He was trampled by the stampede,” Russ said.

  India’s eyes met Ransom’s in a soul-searching exchange. He gave a self-conscious cough. India realized he hadn’t told them what really happened. Was he protecting himself or her reputation?

  “It’s done with now, no need to dwell on it,” Eugenie said. “We’ve been real worried about you. Going off and getting yourself lost.”

  India was reviving. “I wasn’t lost, I just didn’t know where I was for a few hours.”

  “We’ve heard that before,” Russ said, laughing. He’d gone over to the pine cradle and picked up the awakening baby.

  “I told her not to get off her horse,” Gat said with mock seriousness.

  “I didn’t get off, I fell off,” she replied defensively.

  “Well, ma’am, you were as good as a man!” Gat said.

  India smiled, just barely. For this praise was of little consequence to her. “No, Mr. Ransom, I was as good as a woman.” He smiled. He always looked so intense until he smiled.

  Then everyone laughed, especially young Elizabeth.

  Gat had stepped over to the bed. A glint of admiration seemed to sparkle in his black eyes. “Well, any way you look at it, you have my thanks.”

  India held his dark gaze with her own for a long moment. Something had happened out there between them. The rivalry was gone. She supposed to Ransom’s thinking she’d proven herself. She’d participated in the mysterious male ritual that turned boys into men, and in her case, a woman into a man. No matter, she still didn’t want to be a man. But she did want something for her trial.

  “Mr. Ransom, I want more than your thanks. I want your friendship.”

  Gat’s lips broke into a calculating grin. “Why sure, ma’am. But then you’ll have to call me Gat. All my friends do.”

  Now India grinned. “Well, Mr. Ransom, I guess it will be Gat from here on.”

  In the late afternoon, India awoke from napping to stillness. She looked around curiously, for it was unusual to be able to hear the mantel clock ticking and the teapot whistling amid the constant activity of the Hedemen household. The creak of the pine rocker drew her attention and Eugenie met her gaze with a soft smile.

  “Nice, isn’t it.” Sun filtered across her shoulder from the window and illuminated the angelic face of the sleeping baby in her arms. “It sometimes happens, but not often. Everyone’s out by the corral watching Ty Pierre trick ride. I suppose it’s as good a time as any to speak with you—now you and Gat have become friends.”

  India flushed and turned in the bed. “I…I don’t know if it’s for the better or not.”

  “Believe me it ain’t for the better. Friendship leads to other things.” She lowered her eyes thoughtfully. “I know from experience because there’s more to the story of why Russ and I came west than I told you, and maybe my telling you will save you the grief I’ve had.” She looked past India for a moment as if to decide how best to begin. “You see, Russ and I came west because…because my family disowned me. Well, we weren’t married and I got in the family way. I thought I knew about those things, but I hadn’t expected how uncontrollable passion could be.” She gnawed her lower lip. “Not that I don’t love Russ. I surely do. But marrying a man because you have to is different from marrying because you want to, and it’s the same with him, maybe worse. A man hates to be cornered, and too, with a woman there’s always a niggling doubt he married her out of duty, not love. Oh, sure, I thought a girl needed a man to take care of her, but I’ve learned that a woman ends up taking care of herself, no matter how strong the man is. Marry for love, not convenience, I always say.”

  Fascinated by the depth of Eugenie’s insights, India drew up her knees beneath the quilt and rested her chin on her arms. “But can’t love grow between a man and woman after a time?”

  “Sometimes. I love Russ more now than I ever have, but it’s different from when we were young. Oh, we still have our moments. We have a grassy spot down by the river and sometimes we let the older children take care of the young ones and we spend a little time together, alone—no interruptions.” Eugenie didn’t miss the sudden show of interest on India’s face. A sly smile touched Eugenie’s lips. “And I suppose that’s what I promised to tell you…what goes on between a man and a woman when there are no interruptions.”

  “Yes, I want to know. Men shouldn’t be the only ones to know it all.”

  Eugenie began to laugh and shake her head. “My soul, men don’t know nothin’, only what pleases themselves. A woman has to teach her man how to please her. Why, by the time a man’s spent himself, it’s just beginning for a woman.”

  India smiled self-consciously,
wondering if she was indeed ready to hear what Eugenie was about to tell her, but curiosity was ever her forte. She settled back and directed her undivided attention to Eugenie.

  The shelf clock ticked away an hour of enlightenment, and for India the whole story of creation seemed to be put back in an orderly fashion. Yes, in that single hour what Eugenie revealed to her about the reciprocal nature of love between a man and a woman made better sense than anything she’d ever heard in vulgar slang, puritan prudery, or softly whispered innuendo.

  But Eugenie’s last confidence became a disquieting caution. “Remember, India, it’s up to you to pull in the reins if it goes farther than you want. It’s always the woman who has the most to lose.”

  Well, India thought, I’ve already lost my heart—what more is there?

  Three days later, their leave-taking at the Hedemen ranch became a sorrowful parting, especially for India, because she knew she’d never return. The children lined up beside Eugenie and Russ in front of the corral and India reluctantly gave up the new baby to its mother’s arms, and with a teary sniff, moved down the row of children, giving each a kiss and a hug.

  “You come back soon, now,” reminded Eugenie. She gave India a one-armed squeeze and a kiss. “You’ll always be welcome, and hopefully someday I can repay you for all the help you’ve been to us.”

  “Yep, I add my thanks to Eugenie’s. I’ll sure miss that Frenchy cookin’ you stir up, ma’am,” Russ said, grinning.

  Eugenie threw him a look of mock disgust. “Well, if you don’t like my plain cookin’, Russ Hedemen, you can fix supper yourself.”

  “Now I didn’t—” he began.

  “Ah, Eugenie. Russ likes your cookin’. He told me that’s why he married you, for your biscuits,” Gat threw in.

  “And I suppose that’s all,” Eugenie grumbled with a sideways wink at India. “I guess I’ll leave home one of these days and take up the cause like India here. I might get a lot more than the vote for women. I might get some genuine appreciation after I’m gone and all of you have to do your own fetchin’ and slavin’.”

  “Well,” India said with a smile, “saddle up a horse and come with us. You should take a holiday. Gat’s a pretty good campfire cook and we might have a fine time of it.”

  “Now, now,” Russ spoke up. “Don’t go putting such temptations in front of my wife. Why, last time she got a wild notion, I had to bring that fancy pump organ all the way from St. Louis to keep her here.”

  “And if ever a woman deserved it, Eugenie did,” Gat said. “She has my standing proposal that if she ever gets tired of an old cowpoke of a husband, I’m ready and waiting.”

  “Is there any female in the territory who wouldn’t want your standing proposal, Gat?” asked Eugenie with a mischievous eye.

  Gat shifted. “Yep, there’s one.” His eyes moved to India. She’d turned suddenly and got up on her horse. “Some heifers spook mighty easy.” Eugenie and Gat exchanged smiles and he climbed up on his horse. “We’ll be seein’ you folks.”

  India waved a final farewell, not trusting herself to say another word without breaking into a flood of tears. They rode out of the Hedemen ranch toward the river, pausing a moment by Bitterman’s newly turned grave.

  She looked over at Gat. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

  “It’s done,” he said.

  “Do you think I invited it?”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully, remembering his sharp words the night of the dance with regret. “No woman invites that, and besides he was using you to get at me.”

  Swallowing back the memory she said, “He didn’t…” Then her voice trailed off.

  He cleared his throat. “Don’t think about it. Just don’t judge all men by Bitterman.”

  Momentarily her eyes held his in an assessing gaze and then she nudged Bluestocking on.

  Gat followed beside her. After a while he said, “The Hedemens are fine folks. That Eugenie, I’d say, was strained through a silk hankie.”

  India looked over at him with puzzlement. “What?”

  “I said, the Hedemens are fine folks.”

  “No, the other part.”

  He grinned. “I said, that Eugenie was strained through a silk hankie. You’ve heard the saying?”

  India began to giggle, then she broke into full-hearted laughter. “No I haven’t, but I understand,” thinking of Eugenie’s explanation of the French Secret. “You cowboys have such a way of saying things. ‘Strained through a silk hankie,’” she repeated between fits of laughter.

  Gat caught her eye and suddenly joined in. “I’d say your laugh is about the most pleasant sound I’ve heard in some time.” And for a moment their shared gaze became an embrace of eyes.

  Chapter 17

  After riding two days and encountering only one homestead and a single cavalry detachment on patrol, India wondered why everybody in Wyoming had such an aversion to living next to one another. Nowadays, most people traveled by train—only the poor, the adventuresome and the eccentric did otherwise. The eccentric, she thought, looking over at Gat. That would describe him. In fact, that would describe everyone willing to settle in the territory. Her eyes ached from gazing at an endless blue sky and her mouth throbbed for a cool drink of water. She spied a grove of trees in the distance and prodded Bluestocking to a quicker pace.

  When she rode into the trees she cocked an ear. Was it a baby’s cry or a mockingbird? Maybe she’d been out in the sun too long, for she was hearing babies crying in the wilderness. Next she’d be seeing mirages. Bluestocking moved through the high brush into an opening under the cottonwood canopy where India saw the smoke of a campfire. Caution caused her to draw up her horse and wait for Gat, who was not far behind. Then she heard a faint whimper again and knew this time it wasn’t a bird, but the cry of an infant.

  “Hallo, is someone here?” she called, deciding if there was a child, whoever was there couldn’t be too dangerous. A rustle sounded in the bushes close to the stream, and then a hatless, red-thatched head popped up and slowly looked around. A youth hesitantly stepped out of the brush with a bundle in his arms. A tiny clenched fist batted the air and a red face squealed a long bawl which sounded as anguished as a calf at the Hedemen ranch on branding day. India slipped down off her horse and walked over to the boy. “My goodness, what have you got here?” She extended her arms and the boy gave up the child easily.

  Gat rode up. The boy looked to him when he spoke. “I’m mighty glad someone’s finally come. I’ve prayed night an’ day fer help. My wife’s died of the fever an’ the babe is hunger’un fer somethin’ to eat,” he blurted out sorrowfully.

  India exchanged a puzzled glance with Ransom. She wouldn’t count the stranger in front of her more than a boy, freckled face and lean, at that. But apparently he was man enough to have a child on his hands and now, a dead wife.

  “Where’s your wife, son?” Gat asked, climbing down off his horse and walking over to the lad.

  “Her body’s in the tent by the handcart in those trees. She birthed a day ago and just kept gettin’ sicker and sicker.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t help ’er. They all said not to come an’ we didn’t pay no heed.” He began to sob.

  Gat put a comforting hand on his shoulder. India thought she had never seen such a tragedy. The baby sucked ravenously on her finger tip, and finding no satisfaction, howled anew.

  “Have you given anything to the baby?” Gat asked.

  “Nothin’. Ain’t but flour and meal, an’ a baby kin’t eat thet.”

  “India,” said Gat. “Maybe you’d better find a piece of cloth, twist it into a teat and soak it in water. I’ll go bury his wife.”

  Gat left them and went inside the tent. When he came out he was carrying the woman’s body wrapped in a blanket. He called to the young man and together they found a gravesite. While they took turns digging he told them his wife’s name had been Hope, and his own was Jobias Smythe. They’d been on the way to the gold fields at South Pass.

/>   The water calmed the baby until evening, but then as Gat cooked up burned-bacon dumplings on the fire, the infant awoke and started howling once more. “You can’t blame the little thing,” India sighed, giving it more water. “What are we going to do?” she whispered aside to Gat.

  Gat shook his head, and then an idea seemed to take hold. He reached for the slab of bacon, cut off a thick strip of fat and put it in the baby’s mouth. To India’s amazement the baby began to gum the rind contentedly.

  “It isn’t enough nourishment, but if we keep giving her the water, she can survive till we reach the next settlement.”

  “How far is it?” India asked.

  “Too far,” Gat said.

  Into the dark hours of the night India rocked and fretted over the bawling baby. Gat woke to spell her but Jobias slept deeply, impervious to the situation.

  A long time after midnight Gat nudged India awake. In his arms the baby was crying full force. “She won’t take the water or bacon fat.”

  “What can we do?” India sat up.

  Gat cleared his throat. “Give her your breast.”

  India was slightly dazed with sleep. “What?”

  “Let her suckle on your breast. It should calm her.”

  “But I’ve never…I don’t have any milk.”

  Starlight twinkled in his eyes and an assuring smile touched his lips. “Believe me, it don’t matter.”

  From her talk with Eugenie she was aware of the underlying message of his remark, but night sometimes makes people more forgiving, and as India watched the baby’s struggle she was willing to do as Gat asked. Mumbling to herself she unfastened the leather lacings of her doeskin dress. Gat draped a blanket over the edge of her shoulder for privacy.

  “I’m not sure I know what to do,” she said. An embarrassed shiver crept through her as she bared her breast to the night air. The baby rooted instinctively but had no luck capturing the flat swell of India’s nipple. “She can’t catch hold. I think one has to be a genuine mother to execute these things.”